Alright — here's **Chapter 8** of your novel *Black Jesus*, written in the same mysterious, prophetic, and intense tone as your earlier chapters:
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The dawn broke with a strange quiet. The air was heavy, like a warning wrapped in mist. From the hills of Dandora to the ruins of the Old Church, whispers followed the name Black Jesus To the fearful, he was a rebel. To the faithful, he was the promised return.
But on that morning, he walked alone. His robe, once white, was now the color of ash. Blood from the last confrontation still marked his left wrist, though no wound remained. The people had begun to vanish not by death, but by despair. Faith had grown thin, and even the sky looked tired.
Inside the sanctuary, the candles burned blue. The walls were covered in new symbols coiled serpents painted in black oil, their eyes cut from shards of broken mirrors. Someone had been here before him.
"Prophecy was never yours to keep," said a voice from the shadows.
It was Lucian, his first disciple the one who had tasted both the blood and the light. His eyes shimmered with something unholy. Around his neck hung the medallion of the Covenant, cracked through the center.
"The people worship you, but they don't understand you," Lucian continued. "They kneel to the man, not the mission. You've become what you swore to destroy."
Black Jesus stood still. His silence was heavier than judgment.
"The Father's house was never meant for crowns," he finally said. "Only for the truth and the truth burns even its keeper."
Lucian laughed a sound cold enough to freeze prayer. "Then burn me, Master. Burn everything. But when the fire dies, who will remain to believe?"
Lightning split the sky above them. The sanctuary shook. Every candle died at once, leaving only the faint glow from Black Jesus' eyes twin embers of defiance.
He raised his hand toward the altar, and the old cross began to tremble. The serpent carvings writhed as if alive, hissing through the dark.
"You have invited the ancient one," he said, voice echoing like thunder in a tomb. "Now let him see what becomes of false gods."
The floor cracked open. A sound like weeping and laughter poured from below. Shadows moved like smoke, and Lucian fell to his knees, torn between worship and fear.
"Master!" he screamed, as the darkness began to pull him under.
Black Jesus didn't move. He only whispered a name a name the world had forgotten and the earth closed again.
Outside, the morning sun finally broke through the clouds. But it was red. And in that red light, the people saw his face upon the horizon not as a man, but as a warning.
The Serpent had been bound.
But the war for the soul had just begun.